Abraham Update

Saturday, 24 January 2009

Abraham had to be re­strained by the po­lice to­day for the first [and hope­fully last] time in his life. A cop helped me buckle him into the shop­ping cart at the gro­cery.

Eating is some­times a fraught af­fair.

Abraham Eating Animated


Tuesday, 20 January 2009

Here’s a great ex­cerpt from the book I’m cur­rently read­ing.

“This af­ter­noon Sallie’s three youngest pups, Sue’s Sirius, and Mrs. Chippy, the carpenter’s cat, have to be shot. We could not un­der­take the main­te­nance of weak­lings un­der the new con­di­tions. Macklin, Crean, and the car­pen­ter seemed to feel the loss of their friends rather badly. We pro­pose mak­ing a short trial jour­ney to-mor­row, start­ing with two of the boats and the ten sledges. The num­ber of dog teams has been in­creased to seven, Greenstreet tak­ing charge of the new ad­di­tional team, con­sist­ing of Snapper and Sallie’s four old­est pups. We have ten work­ing sledges to re­lay with five teams. Wild’s and Hurley’s teams will haul the cut­ter with the as­sis­tance of four men. The whaler and the other boats will fol­low, and the men who are haul­ing them will be able to help with pro­gress, but each mile counts. Crean this af­ter­noon has a bad at­tack of snow-blind­ness.”

The weather on the morn­ing of October 30 was over­cast and misty, with oc­ca­sional falls of snow. A mod­er­ate north-east­erly breeze was blow­ing. We were still liv­ing on ex­tra food brought from the ship when we aban­doned her, and the sledg­ing and boat­ing ra­tions were in­tact. These ra­tions would provide for twenty-eight men for fifty-six days on full ra­tions, but we could count on get­ting enough seal and pen­guin meat to at least dou­ble this time. We could even, if pro­gress proved too dif­fi­cult and too in­ju­ri­ous to the boats, which we must guard as our ul­ti­mate means of sal­va­tion, camp on the near­est heavy flow, scour the neigh­bour­ing pack for pen­guins and seals, and await the out­ward drift of the pack to open and nav­i­ga­ble wa­ter.

“This plan would avoid the grave dan­gers we are now in­cur­ring of get­ting en­tan­gled in im­pass­able pres­sure-ridges and pos­si­bly ir­re­triev­ably dam­ag­ing the boats, which are bound to suf­fer in rough ice; it would also min­i­mize the peril of the ice split­ting un­der us, as it did twice dur­ing the night at our first camp. Yet I feel sure that it is the right thing to at­tempt a march, since if we can make five or seven miles a day to the north-west our chance of reach­ing safety in the months to come will be in­creased greatly. There is a psy­cho­log­i­cal as­pect to the ques­tion also. It will be much bet­ter for the men in gen­eral to feel that, even though pro­gress is slow, they are on their way to land than it will be sim­ply to sit down and wait for the tardy north-west­erly drift to take us out of this cruel waste of ice. We will make an at­tempt to move. The is­sue is be­yond my power ei­ther to pre­dict or to con­trol.”

That af­ter­noon Wild and I went out in the mist and snow to find a road to the north-east. After many de­vi­ous turn­ings to avoid the heav­ier pres­sure ridges, we pi­o­neered a way for at least a mile and a half, and then re­turned by a rather bet­ter route to the camp. The pres­sure was now rapid in move­ment and our floe was suf­fer­ing from the shakes and the jerks of the ice. At 3 p.m., af­ter lunch, we got un­der way, leav­ing Dump Camp a mass of de­bris. The or­der was that per­sonal gear must not ex­ceed two pounds per man, and this meant that noth­ing but bare nec­es­saries was to be taken on the march. We could not af­ford to cum­ber our­selves with un­nec­es­sary weight. Holes had been dug in the snow for the re­cep­tion of pri­vate let­ters and lit­tle per­sonal tri­fles, the Lares and Penates of the mem­bers of the Expedition, and into the pri­vacy of these white graves were con­signed much of sen­ti­men­tal value and not a lit­tle of in­trin­sic worth. I rather grudged the two pounds of al­lowance per man, ow­ing to my keen anx­i­ety to keep weights at a min­i­mum, but some per­sonal be­long­ings could fairly be re­garded as in­dis­pens­able. The jour­ney might be a long one, and there was a pos­si­bil­ity of a win­ter in im­pro­vised quar­ters on an in­hos­pitable coast at the other end. A man un­der such con­di­tions needs some­thing to oc­cupy his thoughts, some tan­gi­ble me­mento of his home and peo­ple be­yond the seas. So sov­er­eigns were thrown away and pho­tographs were kept. I tore the fly-leaf out of the Bible that Queen Alexandra had given to the ship, with her own writ­ing in it, and also the won­der­ful page of Job con­tain­ing the verse:

Out of whose womb came the ice?
And the hoary frost of Heaven, who hath en­gen­dered it?
The wa­ters are hid as with a stone,
And the face of the deep is frozen.

The other Bible, which Queen Alexandra had given for the use of the shore party, was down be­low in the lower hold in one of the cases when the ship re­ceived her death-blow. Suitcases were thrown away; these were re­trieved later as ma­te­rial for mak­ing boots, and some of them, marked “solid leather,” proved, to our dis­ap­point­ment, to con­tain a large per­cent­age of card­board. The man­u­fac­turer would have had dif­fi­culty in con­vinc­ing us at the time that the de­cep­tion was any­thing short of crim­i­nal.

Sir Ernest Shackleton — South: The Last Antarctic Expedition of Shackleton and the Endurance

Pierogie Pile

Sunday, 4 January 2009


  • 1# kiel­basa, sliced
  • 1 box frozen piero­gies
  • 1 green pep­per, diced
  • 1 red pep­per, diced
  • 12 red onion, diced
  • 8 oz. frozen corn
  • 2 T. but­ter


  1. Put the but­ter in a 13×9 inch casserole dish and stick it in the oven. Preheat the oven to 400°
  2. Prep the other in­gre­di­ents, and toss them to­gether in a large mix­ing bowl.
  3. When the but­ter is melted, re­move from the oven and make sure the bot­tom of the dish is fully coated.
  4. Put the piero­gies in the dish.
  5. Layer the other stuff on top.
  6. Cover the casserole with alu­minum foil and bake for 40 – 50 min­utes.

Pierogie Pile!


Friday, 2 January 2009

Ever since I found out that Abraham was in­com­ing, I’ve not worked out. First, I broke my el­bow and big toe, then my mem­ber­ship at the gym ran out, then the weather turned nice right when Abraham showed up. I’ve put on about 15 pounds that I need to take off. Cardio and less gorg­ing are the only ways I’m go­ing to get the weight off. This is go­ing to be hard, since I like to cook and the women I work with bring in de­li­cious chow on a reg­u­lar ba­sis.

When I was do­ing my weightlift­ing, I didn’t no­tice too much im­prove­ment in my up­per body mus­cle tone, so I’m aim­ing to im­prove that by putting my­self through the 100 push-ups meme. I’m shop­ping around for a good ab and lower-back cales­then­ics rou­tine, but haven’t found one that doesn’t seem like it is more mar­ket­ing than ef­fec­tive­ness. Basic train­ing. I’m not ex­pect­ing to get a six-pack, since that in­volves get­ting my body fat down to 5 – 6%.

I’m a bit odd-shaped. My legs are carved from wood due to 15 years of near con­stant run­ning, fenc­ing or cy­cling, but from the waist up I look like some dude who sits in an of­fice chair all day eat­ing donuts. It’s a shame I can’t run out­doors in the Cleveland win­ter, but my marathon train­ing from a few years back has taught me that run­ning in Cleveland win­ters ru­ins my arthritic knee. I don’t re­ally want to drop cash money at a gym just for tread­mill use.